


Help Me Out of the Shape I'm In

by Fickle_Obsessions



Series: Sweet Baby, I Need Fresh Blood [3]
Category: 18th Century CE RPF, American Revolution RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Dominance, Hair-pulling, M/M, Submission
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-29
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-27 10:34:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7614712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fickle_Obsessions/pseuds/Fickle_Obsessions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>America's Founding Vampires. George Washington is the sire of a coven (more like harem) of vampires and this is the story of how Benjamin was added to the vampire coven.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Help Me Out of the Shape I'm In

**Author's Note:**

> This one is extra embarrassing. Rated Mature more for the themes than the explicit content. Tumblr user consumptive-sphinx and other anons said "what about an amrev vampire au?" and I fell for it like a ton of bricks. Because this was for tumblr originally I will confess this is all empty calories, no healthy fiber. 
> 
> Also did you know coffee and tea didn’t get big in England until after 1650? I didn’t. So there’s several mentions of tea in this. Whoops!

Washington is only lucky enough to find Tallmadge because Hamilton decides that he wants to go to university. And though he hardly likes to admit it, whatever Hamilton wants he almost always eventually gets. Even if it’s something Washington is loath to give him. He does manage to delay for the better a part of a decade from Hamilton’s first request, but Hamilton is nothing if not persistent. Thus in 1641 they – all of them, Hamilton, Arnold, Humphreys, and Washington – travel to Oxford.

There is no place in a town like Oxford for a very fashionable and very mysterious lord. Nor would a venerable, retired military man be allowed to go without too many uncomfortable questions. The only reasonable fiction to account for four unattached men of roughly similar ages is a troop of pious scholars. Hamilton and Humphreys enroll in Trinity College, and Arnold and Washington, ludicrously, must pose as their learned clergy mentors. All of Washington’s fine silk suits are stored away in cedar chests and are replaced, in a hatefully pragmatic move, with six black wool suits done without much adornment except gold buttons. In a seven room stone house abandoned after the most recent bout of plague, Washington hangs his sword above the mantel as if it were just an old heirloom. He resigns himself to a few years of fitfully dull company.

The sole benefit to posing as clergy is that people tend to want to tell Washington secrets, and secrets are generally told in private. He starts keeping tea and cake to offer them when they come so that they will linger, get comfortable. Washington does not so much hunt at Oxford as wait and he is doing just that, waiting, when young Benjamin Tallmadge comes calling.

In only a little more time than it takes to open the door, Washington decides the boy standing on his doorstep is quite lovely. In rapid succession he takes in the smooth, fair hair, blue eyes rimmed with thick lashes, the mouth flushed dusky pink. He makes a very pretty picture, albeit one that has only a small effect on Washington. He has been around long enough not to be bowled over by mere loveliness.

It’s what the boy does once he’s invited in for tea that intrigues Washington. Tallmadge interrogates him.

It’s rather adorable. He isn’t here to blurt some secret to him in an Anglican mockery of Catholic confession, he’s here to find out just who Washington and his family are siding with in the developing conflict between royalists and parliamentarians. What’s more, he doesn’t come right out and ask Washington, he attempts to find out through more wily means.

“Don’t you tire of travel? I wonder why you haven’t settled with a congregation, sir.” Tallmadge sips his tea carefully, as if he’s concerned with showing anything like poor manners.

“Ministerial work is a high calling indeed, but some simply do not have the temperament. I am one of those. In general I prefer books to people, and I find I can love God better in this way.” Regular practice allows Washington to say this and sound mostly sincere.

“And do you ever publish, sir? I’m sure I’d love to read something of yours.”

Washington smiles without revealing his teeth, “No, I never have.”

Disappointed, Tallmadge nibbles on the slice of cake he’d accepted only at Washington’s insistence and considers his next attack. The boy is turning out to be both lovely and clever, and Washington knows that there will be no one around the cottage for hours yet. He could have the boy now, and he considers it. All it would take is to contrive a reason to get close, to make the boy still and calm and then feast on that soft looking neck. Or he could find whether the boy’s inclinations lean one way or the other, and play the game of seduction. Fill the next few months with the excitement of anticipation.

Either way Tallmadge is perfectly unaware that he has wandered into a web that is rapidly closing around him. He tries another approach, “I confess to being curious, sir, about what a member of the clergy has to say about the recent act of parliament.”

Washington remembers vaguely Hamilton discussing his thoughts on several recent acts including one called The Protestation that would have directly affected a true man of the church. But Washington himself has absolutely no opinion about any of it. Laws have not meant very much to him in quite some time. It occurs to him as well that at no point has Tallmadge made it clear which side _he_ is on. He’s asked the question in such a way that Washington is left to choose which act to assume he’s referring to, and has no hint of what opinion would be welcome. It’s a smart bit of maneuvering.

Tallmadge sits, tea cup in hand, waiting for Washington’s answer. His only option is to sidestep the question entirely.

Washington smiles again, sharp canines kept well-intentioned, and says, “You’re a very intelligent young man, Mr. Tallmadge. I think it your opinion that should carry more weight.”

And something extraordinary happens, Tallmadge’s eyes become suddenly softer, hooded. They stop incessantly searching Washington’s face for clues and drop shyly to look at his own knees. It’s with a barely perceptible effort that he raises them again. It’s a wonderfully intriguing response. Washington would very much like to see it again.

“And given your curiosity,” Washington continues. “I wonder if you might like looking over our library. One of my boys has a love of rare books, but now that he is locked in his studies I think he wouldn't mind having them handled by another scholar.”

Seduction it is. One look at the rows of leather bound books and Tallmadge falls without a protest.

Royalist or parliamentarian or satanist, apparently it hardly matters when Washington has something he wants. They strike a deal. The books must remain here, Hamilton would never allow them to be lent, but any day Tallmadge is able he can come promptly at four and be allowed to visit the library and read to his heart’s content.

Tallmadge at first tries not to be a nuisance, he starts by coming twice a week, then three times, and by the end he nearly everyday. Washington makes sure he’s always greeted warmly and in time the boy starts to linger, spending more and more time away from his college and fellow scholars. He starts to accept the offer of tea before he reads, a bit of wine after. He gamely answers Washington’s questions about his readings and will, if asked in the right way, read a favorite passage to him.

No matter how many times Tallmadge is complimented that intriguing, shy response remains.

In time Tallmadge meets the entire family. He seems to intuit immediately that Hamilton’s favor is the most important since its Hamilton’s books that are his excuse for coming by. Tallmadge wins his approval through a mix of earnest flattery and vigorous debate. Arnold likes Tallmadge best when he is riled, so when he finds out the boy is a parliamentarian, Arnold becomes a passionate royalist. Hamilton, even knowing it’s only a game, cannot resist an argument. They will all argue for hours if Washington lets them.

But Humphreys, worryingly, seems to take the boy as a threat. He is the last and most recent edition to the family and he does not believe Washington’s interest is as limited as he claims. When his insistence of this annoys Washington, he sulks, annoying Washington even more. In an ill temper, Washington ends up wounding Humphreys’ feelings by pointing out that immortality has made him a rather feckless student and writer. He’ll have to apologize for that at some point, but Washington does not appreciate being accused of things.

Tallmadge is handsome and intelligent, but so are a lot of young men. If Washington went around claiming them all he might as well declare himself a sultan in the manner of the Ottomans and build a grand seraglio. He simply enjoys the test of his patience, the delicious anticipation. Still there is only so long that something can be drawn out before it wears thin.

He decides to test Tallmadge one afternoon, to feel out the edges a bit more of what might be. It starts as any other day, Tallmadge arriving right at four, a bit of easy conversation as he moves about the kitchen, well practiced at making himself a cup of tea. Once the tea is finished and set aside he sits at the desk and waits for Washington to select the book he’ll be allowed to review. Today he is given a latin text which contrasts heavenly and earthly love.

In case his test ends in disappointment Washington does nothing more than watch Tallmadge read for nearly an hour. Memory is a strange thing for an immortal. Washington cannot choose what remains vivid but as much as he can he memorizes Tallmadge’s face, the set of his shoulders, the absolutely flawless fingers tapping on the desk. When he can take no more he stands and, moving silently, comes to stand behind Tallmadge as he reads.

He bends down as if wishing to review the page, low enough that his chest brushes Tallmadge’s shoulders, close enough that his breath ghosts over Tallmadge’s cheek. Washington expects _something,_ a little gasp, a flinch, a startled blush, but to his surprise there is nothing. Only a careful stillness, a near perfect control except that Tallmadge cannot stifle the wild beating of his heart.

Washington straightens his back, more than intrigued. He’s fascinated, he must know how far that control extends. “Ah,” he says softly. “I’ve ruffled your hair. My apologies.”

Tallmadge wears his hair loose around his shoulders, and Washington combs his fingers carefully through the locks as if to smooth them. Though his heart is beating faster and faster, still Tallmadge does not shift or move away. Even as Washington’s fingertips brush the back of his neck Tallmadge acts for all the world as if nothing out of the ordinary is happening. His breathing is silent and steady, interrupted only once by a reflexive swallow.

Utterly marvelous control. And yet, everything has its limits.

Washington takes a reckless gamble. He slips his fingers into Tallmadge’s hair again and slowly tightens them into a fist until he’s just pulling at it and _there’s_ the gasp. Tallmadge’s head falls back easily, and his blue eyes are already sliding shut. He goes so far as to rest his head upon the hand in his hair as if he trusts implicitly that it would hold him up. Tallmadge yields control as easily as if he never wanted it in the first place.

Washington cannot flush hot, not when it’s been hours since he’s fed, but looking down at that face turned up in perfect in supplication he feels the memory of heat as surely if he were suddenly standing under a midsummer sun. He does nothing at all until he feels less moved, less wild. The control he’d just been given is too precious a gift to use without consideration.

Eventually he feels steady enough to test the outer boundaries of this unexpected new territory. Watching and listening to the boy’s reactions with the greatest of care, Washington pushes Tallmadge’s head back over the book.

“If you would read the passage, Benjamin.”

Tallmadge lips part with a panting breath. “Sir?”

“Read the passage.”

Tallmadge blinks down at the page for a moment as if he’d never even seen a book before. Washington lets his hold become ever so slightly more cruel, and finally he begins to read.

 _“Sic itur-”_ but Washington makes his grip tighter still, gets another sweet gasp and ready stillness.

“Translate it,” Washington orders. “Please.”

Tallmadge tries again, changes the words from Latin to English and reads slowly with a shaking voice. If he stumbles on a word, Washington tugs at his hair and gets a soft moan. Washington has taken enough lovers in his time that he has no trouble telling a whimper born of pleasure from one of pain.

It’s marvelous. Washington can hardly focus on the words Tallmadge is saying, could hardly care if his translation is pure gibberish. He’s only thrilled that the boy is trying. He decides right then to save Tallmadge from the doldrums of being a church man, a scholar, and more importantly from the finality of death. He thinks a bit whimsically that he will need to reward Hamilton. Washington had been so very put out about coming to Oxford and what does this stupid little town deign to give him anyway, but a boy that he absolutely needs to have?

Tallmadge finishes with the passage, licks his lips and swallows as if desperately thirsty. Washington leaves him abruptly, just lets go of Tallmadge’s hair and leaves him alone at the desk. He means to give Tallmadge just a moment of panic. He needs to know right now if Tallmadge is the type of person that has the impulse to run when faced with something new and strange.

Tallmadge doesn’t run. He sits at the desk and tries to regain a mastery of himself. Washington could sigh in relief, though he doesn’t. He just sits upon a chair they’ve placed in the hallway for lack of any other proper space to put. He tries to look regal and unaffected.

“Tallmadge,” he says. Washington listens to the boy’s sharp intake of breath at the sound of his voice. “Come here.”

Tallmadge obeys immediately, pushes away from the desk and comes into the hallway. He sees Washington seated and takes three, slow steps across the floor to stand before him.

Washington looks up at him, keeps his expression closed, his face stony. “It is rude to loom over someone,” he says.

Tallmadge looks first to the left and then to the right. There isn’t another chair in reach and so, after only the shortest moment of hesitation, he kneels.

Washington cannot stop himself from grinning, showing his canines as if they are nothing to hide. If Tallmadge notices them he still lets Washington cup his face with a broad, cool hand.

“So lovely,” he says, tilting Tallmadge’s face one way then the other to watch his blush. “And all the more so because you are made to withstand rough handling.”

He slides his thumb of Tallmadge’s lips and gets exactly what the reaction he wants. They fall open easily, and his tongue seems to think about darting forward to taste the pad of Washington’s thumb, but it’s held in check.

“I have a passion for beautiful, unique things,” Washington confesses. “If you wished it, I could take care of you. Give you all the things you need. And more, so much more. For as long as you like.”

Tallmadge sways forward at first, but then leans suddenly away. He drops his head and shakes it, clearing it and denying Washington’s offer at the same time. “You are saying that to seduce me. You don’t mean it.”

Washington has learned enough about Tallmadge not to be surprised when he fights getting something he wants. He knew this from the first day, when Tallmadge refused the cake at first and then ate the whole of what he was offered.

“I ought to-” Tallmadge starts to say and that’s dangerous. Words like “ought to” could let the whole of the normal human world come rushing back in. Tallmadge _ought_ to have never accepted a gift from a stranger without wondering why it was given. But he did and now he’s here, right on the edge of giving Washington everything in return.

So Washington grabs Tallmadge’s neck and gets his thumb under his jaw, forcing his head up again. Tallmadge gasps but Washington knows his own strength very well, trusts his control of it enough not to worry that it’s out of pain. Couldn’t be, not when Tallmadge’s spine melts until he ends up leaning against Washington’s knees.

“I’ve already seduced you,” Washington says with complete confidence. “I could use you right now like a whore. I could tell you that was my exact intention and you would still let me.”

Tallmadge’s eyelids get heavy and hooded again, showing how true this lewd threat is.

“But that is not what I’m trying to do, Benjamin.”

Tallmadge swallows thickly, and Washington feels his throat working under his palm. “You’re not?”

“No,” Washington promises. He slides his hand away from the boy’s neck and up, back into his hair. He slips his fingers over his scalp at first, a soft, pleasant touch that makes Tallmadge shiver. Then he tightens his grip and pulls with a steady pressure that bids Tallmadge to lift up and strain towards him. Washington bends down to meet him halfway, lips hovering just above the boy’s mouth.

“What I am trying to do, if you’ll let me,” Washington says quietly. “Is claim you.”

Tallmadge lets out a shuddering exhale of relief, breathes it right into Washington’s kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Title of this story and series from "Fresh Blood" by Eels. Find me on [tumblr.](http://fickleobsessions.tumblr.com)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Fill Every Shadow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/7724260) by [iniquiticity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/iniquiticity/pseuds/iniquiticity)




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